Madam will you talk?
by ThreeMagpies
Summary: A Taboo fic. James Delaney, Lorna Bow, others of the League of the Damned. Approaching the Azores and his meeting with Colonnade, James Keziah Delaney has a use for Lorna Bow. He wants her to play his wife.
1. Chapter 1

Madame, will you talk?

A Taboo fic. James Delaney, Lorna Bow, others of the League of the Damned.

Approaching the Azores and his meeting with Colonnade, James Keziah Delaney has a use for Lorna Bow that she may or may not welcome, he needs her to play his wife.

AN: I fell in love with Taboo from the very beginning of the very first episode and cannot wait until the next season. I don't own anything of course and write out of admiration for a great production, cast and crew.

The title of this story is from an old English folk song, 'I will give you the keys of heaven', cited in a collection from 1893, although I think it was probably around in one version or another for a lot longer than that. The quote was also used as the title of one of my favourite books (at one time) by Mary Stuart, which is where I first came across it.

…

After spongeing herself off with the help of a bucket of hot water and some soft scottish soap until she was free of the layers of grime and blood that had begun to feel as permanent as James Delaney's tattoos, Lorna climbed into the luxuriously deep, hot water that filled the muslin lined copper hip bath Atticus and French Bill had set up for them in the captain's cabin. She sighed, feeling clean all over for the first time in a long, long while.

She took a deep breath and submerged, her long golden red curls floating out like seaweed, surged up again with a groan of delight, took up a sea sponge from the table next to the bath and smoothed it down her arm and over her breasts, going gently over the almost healed wound on her side. The sunset glow coming in through the tiny window and the soft light from the lanterns on the tiny table fixed to the wall shone on her clean, pale skin, casting little rainbows on the soap bubbles floating in the water. It felt like something very, very close to heaven and she was profoundly grateful that James had decided to allow the use of some their precious fresh water for something as frivolous as a bath.

The wind was light and the sea calm, and there was just a slight rise and fall of the water in the bath as it rose and fell with the swells under the ship. Lying there was like floating naked in the sea itself, only warmer and thankfully with none of the sharks that had taken to following the ship in recent days.

Sighing in satisfaction, she lay back and closed her eyes, enjoying the water on her skin, the little waves lapping her nipples and fluttering against the curls and sensitive flesh between her legs. She opened her knees wide to let the warm, delicious tide in, feeling wanton and almost decadent doing such a thing in James' own cabin, near his bed. A memory sent the blood surging through her veins of his hand on her shoulder, his blue eyes looking into her soul and almost without her knowing, the sponge strayed lower, slowly stroking her belly and lower still, feeling almost like a hand… his hand.

She swallowed hard and pulled the sponge back, there'd be time later to revisit that thought when she was alone in her bunk and under her blankets, Pearl would be returning at any moment and the girl already seemed to be aware that her feelings for James were very far from motherly. Lorna had felt her watching them sometimes, smiling when her son by law came to sit with her on deck to drink coffee and talk plays and politics to help pass the long, warm days of their voyage. She didn't think Pearl would say anything though, she seemed more interested in whether they were enjoying themselves.

Lorna did enjoy his visits, very much. She enjoyed their conversations as well as his company. He had travelled to far places, and was well read, well educated, and the complexity of his mind, the glint of excitement she saw in his eyes when he talked of the new world was intoxicating. He was like a draught of strong liquor, and he made her senses swim whenever she was near him.

He seemed to have become calmer now that the battles in London were over and they were on their way. There were more battles to come of course, England and the Free states of America were still at war, although they were all on the other side now. The stars and stripes flew above their heads, not the Union Jack. He was still the same in other ways though, secretive, mysterious, keeping his plans to himself until the last possible moment.

They were only days away from the Azores and Ponte Delgado now. Then after that, if they lived long enough they would sail to the Americas, to the new world. James had a plan of course, and a use for each of them. He had slowed the ship and arranged the water for the bath for a reason. He always had a reason, a purpose, even if he was the only one who knew what it was.

She wiggled her toes and wondered vaguely what her part in his plan would be, then decided that she was feeling too dreamily comfortable to think much more on it.

He would tell her when the time was right.

She had almost drifted off to sleep when the door opened and Pearl came in with two more buckets of hot water from the galley. She balanced herself easily as the ship rolled, but then Pearl lived up to her name, she seemed to have been born for the sea. She was glowing, her smile wide and carefree, skin sparkling with the sun and spray, hair a nimbus of bright golden curls as she put one bucket down, lifting the other to pour with a flourish and a cheerful half courtesy. 'Here we are then, miss, this'll top you up good an' proper.'

Lorna smiled back. 'Thank you, Pearl, I'm nearly finished so it'll still be hot when it's your turn.' She tipped her head back so that the water flowed through her hair, over her shoulders and down her back, making her shiver with delight. Her eyes fluttered shut, 'Oh that's so good.'

Pearl laughed, the sound young and carefree, 'you're welcome, miss, but it'll be a while till I get a turn, Mr Delaney said that he needed the tub too, then Mr Godfrey.' She shrugged, the smile fading a little, 'although poor Mr Cholmondeley still has to settle for blanket baths.'

Lorna frowned, yes, poor Chomondeley. He was improving but it was agonisingly slow…then the thought that James would sit where she was, of his tattooed, muscular form inhabiting the same space took her breath away, sending an electric tingle all the way down her body. It was intoxicating, almost like the thrill of being on stage with an audience shouting out her name. She opened her eyes, wiping a few drips away with a fold of muslin, 'we're getting close then?'

Pearl nodded, 'French Bill says another few days and we'll be at the Azores,' She put one bucket down and picked up the other with a flourish and a rustle of muslin, pouring the water in. 'Won't it be nice to see dry land again? And to eat something besides fish, turtle soup and salt beef.' Her lip curled, 'I'll be happy if I never have to eat turtle soup ever again.'

Lorna sighed with pleasure as the water streamed down her back, 'I don't mind it, although I have to admit I've been dreaming of Brace's roast fowl.' She looked up at the other woman. The last rays of sunlight had caught her hair, turning it into a glowing golden mass, although the smile and bright eyes possibly had more to do with her frequent nocturnal activities amongst the crew. Even Atticus with his devotion to James seemed to favour Pearl although he hadn't yet forgiven Helga for her betrayal of James. At night he disappeared below decks with the others and the sound of whispers, laughter, groans and the heavy smell of sex floated away with the wind.

Freedom seemed to suit Pearl very well.

Lorna sighed again, stretching her legs out in the water, and for a moment envy of that freedom churned in her belly. It was very different for her, being Mrs Delaney and a lady meant that everyone in the crew treated her like a piece of fine porcelain, although out of respect for her status as Horace's widow or respect and fear of James it was difficult to say. Then she had a thought. 'Pearl?'

Pearl put the bucket down and started laying out drying cloths and Lorna's dress and underthings, what was left of them anyway. James hadn't been able to magic anything else for them to wear yet, nor had there been anything in the holds of any use in making suitable clothes for females, they'd need to purchase supplies in Ponte Delgado. 'Yes miss?'

Lorna hesitated, but she had to ask, although it was a more difficult subject to raise than she'd imagined.'The men, do they treat you well? Are you happy with how things are?' She looked down, embarrassed and ashamed she hadn't even considered the issue before, 'I mean, things are different now, you don't have to…'

Pearl's laugh rang out, relaxed and carefree. 'Thank you, miss, but don't you worry, I'm very happy with the way things are. Mr Delaney had a talk to all the men on the first day while you were still abed,' Her eyes were soft, 'he said that on his ship and in the new world we were all free, and that if any of them did anything that I didn't say yes to first he'd cut their balls off and use them as bait for the turtles.'

Lorna laughed out loud, snorted and slipped, going under for a long, spluttering moment. She pushed herself up again, brushing red gold curls away from her eyes, her heart glad to hear that James had thought to do that, although she shouldn't really be surprised. He thought of everything. She'd seen his occasional kindnesses before and Pearl was one of his own now. 'I'm glad.' She wrung out her hair, reached out for a dry cloth, then paused, she had to ask. 'Has he… I mean, does he…'

Pearl shook her head and smiled. 'Oh no miss, he hasn't, not once, even though I'd be very happy to oblige if he were to ask.' She handed her the cloth, eyes dancing, 'I like things fine the way they are, but just between you and me, French Bill's been talking about heading out west once we get to the new world and he's asked me to go with him.' Her face grew dreamy, far away, 'we'll go adventuring to the wild places in the mountains.' She grinned, shaking her head, 'I always wanted to go travelin' like the gypsy folk, and they say there's gold lying on the ground in some parts, just lying there, waitin' to be picked up. Can you believe that?' She picked up the two buckets again and headed for the door. 'Anyway, if you're nearly finished I'll go get more hot water for Mr Delaney, miss, I've got another big pot heating up in the galley for him.'

Lorna doubted there was gold lying around anywhere, but didn't have the heart to deny Pearl the possibility of it. She stood up and stepped out of the bath onto the planked floor, wrapping herself in the thick wool cloth and smiled, 'I'm sure he'll appreciate that, Pearl, and I hope you and French Bill find adventure and some of that gold.'

Pearl bobbed a little curtsy as she left, her grin the last thing to leave. 'Me too, miss.'

Alone again, Lorna let the cloth fall away from around her and started to rub herself dry with it. There was a light breeze coming through the windows and she turned her face to the warm wind feeling it turn deliciously cool as it flowed over her still damp skin, the salt in the air tingling on her lips and making her hair fall in a curling, thick mass around her shoulders as it dried.

She let the cloth fall to the floor, wanting more of the wind on her bare skin, her eyes drifting shut as she lifted her arms and turned on the spot, body gracefully curved, lithe, moving in a rhythm with the roll of the ship as she pictured herself a dancer in ancient times, or a spirit from one of Shakespeare's plays, the Tempest maybe. Or the fairy queen Titania herself. Or perhaps a native princess, such as the one she played when Horace saw her perform, that made him want to ask her to marry him. Although she had quickly realised that the man she married had won and lost his own native princess and thought he'd found an echo…

Memories of her dead husband floated through her mind like the breeze, light, uncomplicated. Horace had been a clever man, complex and learned. He had shown her many things and she had done her best by him, and in a way she had loved him, although those feelings were nothing compared to what she felt for his son, James.

She froze, arms curved in a dancer's pose, one leg turned from the hip, the foot on pointe. Speak of the devil. James was there, she could feel him, feel his eyes moving over her like hot brands.

'Madam, will you talk?' That familiar, deep rasp of a voice came from the door although he sounded a little strange, distracted…

There was a song that began with those words, she knew it. The tune was still popular at village fairs and on small stages, and would've been when he was a boy. She turned to face him, cheeks burning, hands going automatically up and down to cover her breasts and the junction between her legs although her body was far from wishing to behaving modestly. Her nipples had responded to his voice as well as the breeze, springing into life like pink, jutting pebbles against her soft skin of her fingers and wrist. Her core and clit had responded too, loudly demanding attention and she could feel moisture pooling, heat bursting out against the palm of her hand. Her fingers itched to touch and bring sweet relief but she pulled them back and hovered, not sure how to proceed. She wasn't prepared…

He was standing in the doorway, one hand on the latch, still in coat and hat with the power of his presence flowing into the room like a tide and his eyes bright blue beams staring at her from under the shadow of the brim.

'James.' Damn it she sounded breathless, 'I didn't hear you knock.'

He cleared his throat, his eyes on her face now, tongue darting out over those lush lips leaving them shining, tempting. 'My apologies. Pearl told me you were finished.'

She tore her eyes away from his mouth and made a mental note to thank Pearl later - or chastise her, she wasn't sure yet. Then she bent to pick up the cloth, pretending nonchalance although every nerve was vibrating, every inch of her skin aware of him.

His gaze followed her as she moved, open and blatant admiration and something darker, more intent in it now, the little room seeming smaller with his masculine force and vibrant energy. He took a step inside, closing the door behind him, the lock clicking as he turned the key without taking his eyes from her. 'I have always thought it a great shame that in the west we insist on covering great beauty with harsh fabric and solemnity.' His voice was lower now, deeper, like dark honey.

Lorna held the cloth up in front of her, feeling her cheeks flush even more as he moved closer, 'would you have us all walk around naked then?'

His lips twitched, eyes glinting with amusement, 'I specifically mentioned beauty, Madam, so definitely not all. I can think of many who perhaps should never, ever be seen naked, in fact for whom there should be a law mandating the wearing of clothing.'

Lorna held back a laugh with difficulty, pretending to be stern. 'There are such laws in fact, sir, as well as convention and climate providing us with clear guidelines.' She was flirting now, her voice playful, wanting more, wanting him…

He was looming above her now, those lips almost close enough for her to kiss if she stood on tiptoe. He leaned towards her. 'Then the law and convention be hanged, I will make new laws,' He reached out a long finger to stroke her cheek, 'because you are beautiful, and I will make it a law that you should walk around naked just as long as I am close by your side to keep the mob at bay.'

Her heart was beating so fast it was like a thunder in her ears and it was suddenly hard to breathe. 'If I am naked, then so you should you be.' Her voice was a whisper, and her words seemed to hang in the air between them like they were written in gold letters upon a banner, a declaration of something that had been growing between them since their escape from London and the death of his sister. But even before that there had been something.

The finger froze in place, his whole body still, his eyes searching her face, then a small sound escaped his throat, 'Is that truly what you wish?'

She nodded, dropping the cloth and kicking it to the side away from them, standing proud and straight before him, eyes proclaiming her certainty. 'Yes.'

He sucked in a breath, tongue flicking out again to wet his lips, his eyes burning down into hers. 'We will soon be reaching a wild country with few conventions and even fewer laws, where the best protection for you will be as my wife.' He tucked a long, bright curl behind her ear, then tipped his head down to trail his lips along the delicate curve of her jaw, whispering in her ear, 'I had intended to speak to you today, although I had not imagined our conversation would be like this.' His fingers followed the line of her neck, down to her throat towards her breasts, his touch gentle, lingering, circling, leaving trails of fire behind them. 'Does this mean you would be willing to play the part?'

She shivered, the sensations almost overwhelming, 'I am already once Mrs Delaney by marriage, so the name will at least be familiar.' She moved closer, inviting more of his touch.

'Then you accept?' The fingers moved lower, his palm cupping her breast, his thumb circling her nipple, a low grunt of satisfaction escaping him when she moaned, leaning into his hand.

She reached up to touch his mouth, fingers exploring the full, soft lips, the wiry, salt stiff curls of his beard. 'Yes, I accept.' Her lips followed her fingers and she kissed him once, then again, feeling his mouth open under hers, the taste of him warm, sweet and salt with the tang of the sea and a slight seasoning of tobacco, his scruff a delicious tickle against her skin. 'As long as I am satisfied with the rehearsals.'

He laughed, deep in his throat and his arms circled round her like tight, steel bands, his hands on the firm, springy flesh of her bottom cheeks, lifting her off the ground and pulling her against the hard, muscled length of him, guiding her legs around him so she was pressed against the thick ridge of his cock. 'I'm used to working very, very hard when I perform, Mrs Delaney.' His voice was hoarse now, amused but heavy with a growing and urgent hunger, 'and I will ensure you are completely satisfied.'

She gasped as the meaning in his words curled in her belly, excitement surged through her like a wave building and building until it was as high as a mountain and ready to break.

He let her down, stepped back a little then shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat, flinging both onto one of the bunk beds at the side of the room, his beaver skin hat going on top of them. His shirt was left gaping at the neck, revealing the smooth black banded skin of his throat and the heavy, toned muscles of a chest etched with more bands and exotic black patterns. The shirt was gone next, yanked over his head and flung away, then the boots, and she almost reached to help him with those because it was taking far, far too long to get them off, then finally his hands reached down for his belt, undoing it, his pants dropping away and kicked to join the rest.

Lorna watched, hardly breathing, her eyes wide and mouth open at the sight of the man stripped bare in front of her.

He was shining with sweat, powerful, arms heavy with muscle, legs strong and taut, thighs banded with black, the whole fierce and savage, his tattoos and scars flickering in the lamplight as if they were moving, alive. But he didn't move, he just stood there.

She was trembling, the tension inside her almost unbearable as he stood there, still, silent, his eyes somehow looking somewhere else, seeing something else. She reached out, 'James?'

James Delaney stood still, staring at the lovely woman in front of him, the first woman for whom he had felt desire since the last, disastrous time with Zilpha with the image of his mother, her face clay white streaked with black lines, raven feather cloak fanned out around her shoulders and her black eyes glaring in coldly incandescent fury hanging in the air like a curtain between the two of them. He hesitated, unwilling to subject Lorna to the possibility of the violence and anger of his ghosts.

But the black in black eyes closed, there was a sigh in the air that caressed his cheek like a kiss, like a feather on his skin and Salish was gone as though she had never been there, either not concerned or even perhaps approving of what he did with Lorna Bow. He was not certain which.

All he knew was that she was gone.

'James?'

Lorna's voice came to him as from a distance and brought him back. He took in a deep, sharp breath then moved forwards to meet her, taking her hands and bringing them to his lips, kissing her fingertips.'I'm sorry, sometimes…'

Lorna nodded, he seemed so hard, so strong, so absolutely in control most of the time, but she had seen him like this before, in London, had seen his vulnerability, the pain inside and if there were such things as ghosts and spirits, then he saw them. 'I understand. Have they gone now? Your ghosts?'

His eyes met hers, deep enough to drown in, then he blinked. 'Yes, they have. For now.'

'Good,' She stepped closer, the heat from his body like being next to a fire, 'then I believe you said something about ensuring my complete satisfaction?'

He choked off a laugh, then his eyes lit up and he let go of her hands, his own sliding down over the lush curves of her breasts then down over her flanks and bottom, pulling her closer. He leaned in to kiss her, his words humming against her lips. 'Yes I believe I did…'

…

AN: thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Part 2 will be up soon, :) cheers, Magpie


	2. Chapter 2

A Taboo fic. James Delaney, Lorna Bow, others of the League of the Damned.

Approaching the Azores and his meeting with Colonnade, James Keziah Delaney has a use for Lorna Bow. He wants her to play his wife.

AN: Hi again, thank you so much for coming back. I think there'll be one more chapter after this. :)

With her body still slippery and wet from the bath, he had picked her up and carried her to the bed, a big four poster as befitted a captain made up with white Egyptian cotton sheets and Indian silk brocade coverlets and cushions courtesy of the so honourable East India. The sheets were smooth and cool beneath her as he laid her down, the mattress soft and sinking lower when he moved on top of her, the bed rocking with them and the ship and his eyes deep wells for her to drown in as he lifted her leg to give him better access, his thighs rough and delicious against the tender flesh between her legs.

Lorna was floating in a haze of sensation, a sweet delirium of skin against slick, hair roughened, skin. He was heavy, the weight welcome, delicious, his body big, rippled with muscle and hard strength. His hands caressed her shoulders, then one caught her wrists to stretch her arms above her head, the other sliding down to explore the breasts arching up to meet him. His lips and tongue were hot and rough against her throat as he kissed his way up to her mouth, his legs thrusting between hers spreading her wide and the hard ridge of his cock was pressed against her thigh. Insistent, hot, hungry.

The scent of their arousal hung in the air like spiced incense, teasing her with the taste of his sweat, the hint of whisky and tobacco on his lips. It was like she was adrift in an ocean of lust, the currents pulling her along this way and that until she didn't know if she was swimming or drowning in it…

And he was feasting on her, devouring her as if he were a starving man.

She caught his shoulders in her hands, fingers roving over the black stripes and the golden flesh between, gentle over the raised and rough hewn lines of scars that circled his biceps then sliding back up over the taut tendons and smooth skin of his throat, up over the scruff of his beard and the rough stubble of his hair, her legs curling around his hips and strong thighs, welcoming him in.

He groaned low in his throat, triumphant, eyes gone dark and blazing into hers.

She gasped, head rolling back, her back arching as he surged into her like a wave, each nerve ending in her body crying out as it was overwhelmed, submerged, pulled under…

There was a sudden, loud, hard, pounding at the door of the cabin. 'Mr Delaney, Mr Delaney sir?' It was Robert, his young voice urgent. The pounding started again. 'Mr Delaney?'

James Delaney froze above her, the big vein in his neck pulsing, the tendons in his shoulders and arms tight and corded, rigid with the effort to hold still, to stop fucking her, the hand around her thigh clenched tight on her flesh and his eyes wide and hard, staring at nothing. He looked cold, furious. Dangerous.

Lorna felt dangerous too, denial and rage and gnawing frustration rising in her throat, making her want to scream at the top of her voice. Her hands clawed, fingernails biting into his back, leaving her own scars on him to join the others. She forced them to let go, swallowing hard and chewing her lips to stop herself raging at poor Robert for daring to interrupt them, just when finally, finally…

James sucked in a breath, let it out, his hand loosening just a little as he held himself suspended above her, inside her, his body pulsing, impatient, reluctant to obey, burning against hers. He twisted to the door, his voice harsh, curt. 'What is it?'

There was a quiver in Robert's voice, but his words were loud and clear. 'Sail sir, off to leeward. Atticus says you'd better come quick. They're flying the Jack.'

…

James was standing at the rail, a spy glass held up to his eyes and the wind blowing the wings of his coat back revealing the tattoos on a bare chest. He hadn't taken time to put on a shirt. Atticus was a little behind him next to French Bill, both men with their own glasses trained on the approaching other ship was still far off on the horizon although ever coming closer, a dark, threatening silhouette against the deep blues of ocean and sky, the red on the Jack flying high on the mast flashing every now and then in the glass as it snapped in the wind.

The rest of the damned were gathered on the deck, all except Cholmondeley, who was still unable to leave his bed and Godfrey who had elected to stay below with the wounded chemist. Some of the men were getting guns primed and loaded and others stacking weapons, knives, pikes and other things the men had been making during the voyage around the deck so they would be to hand if, or rather when, they were boarded.

Robert was helping the men load the powder for the guns, eyes wide and nervous although his hands were steady from long practice with volatile things. They were all working quietly, with few words but many careful glances at James, the tension rising with the approach of the ship. They were all waiting for him to tell them what to do, waiting for him pull another miracle out from under his hat.

Lorna was watching him too from the shelter of the open cabin door, hands busy fixing her dress, her damp hair curling in wild waves down her back and her body still vibrating and unsatisfied, clamouring for completion after what had happened in the cabin even as she was firmly telling it to cease and desist. Her body didn't seem to care a fig though that there were more important things to think about right now.

Like whether any one of them would live to see another dawn.

Regret seared through her at the thought that she might never be that close to him again, that they might never have the chance to finish what they had started, and that she might never have the chance to play his wife.

He'd said that would be the only way she'd be safe where they were going, and the thought of it, even if it was only a pretence, was more exciting than taking the first step out onto a stage in front of a full house on the first night of a new play, even though she was sure he would have another use for her and was not just concerned about her safety. She had learned very well that things were never quite as they seemed when it came to James Keziah Delaney. Even his ghosts weren't ordinary apparitions but uncanny haunts that sang to him from the water…

She was almost surprised to find that she still believed in him and in his promise of freedom in the new world. Even with that ship approaching.

'Miss?' Pearl didn't look or sound as worried as the rest of them, in fact her voice was light, almost unconcerned as she walked up from the galley to join Lorna, a bucket of steaming hot water balanced in each hand. She tipped her head towards the oncoming ship, eyes sly and sympathetic at the same time. 'Talk about bad timing, and here I was hoping you and the Captain'd have some proper time together.' She sighed, dramatic. 'Anyway I thought I'd hop in the bath for a quick one, no sense wasting the water.' She put the buckets down with a groan, her eyes resting on the bright, curls tumbling over Lorna's shoulders. 'I could help with your hair first though if you like?'

Lorna blinked, wishing she had Pearl's confidence then shook her head as she tucked the unruly mass of hair into a somewhat messy roll at the back of her neck with fingers that were not quite steady, pushing a hair stick through to hold it in place. 'Thank you, but I can manage.' She studied the pretty face. 'You're not worried about that ship and what it might mean for us?'

Pearl shrugged. 'Not really, miss. The Devil's smart. He'll know what to do.' She glanced at French Bill, pride in her eyes, 'and our men are strong, good fighters and fierce. We'll be alright.'

Lorna wasn't quite so sure. They were so few now, had lost so many in the battle on the docks. And James was no devil, she knew that, even though there were mysteries that followed him around like dark shadows. She'd seen him at his most vulnerable and at his most ruthless and knew very well that he was a man, even if an unusual one.

She didn't want to question Pearl's confidence though, not now, and besides, even though their chance at freedom had cost them dearly, hadn't James achieved everything he'd said he would? He had done exactly as he promised at great cost to himself, and got them on a ship bound for the New world and a different life.

If they survived this one.

She managed a smile, although it was a small one. 'Yes, I know we will,' keeping her doubts to herself. Any ship of the Crown would have a full complement of crew as well as soldiers and unless James could somehow produce a miracle akin to the loaves and fishes and multiply the crew of the Good hope, they were all doomed.

As if he had heard her thoughts, and maybe he had, James Delaney put the glasses down and turned, his eyes finding and holding hers for a long, dizzying, timeless moment so full of dark, thrusting promises that her knees went weak and her breath caught…

Then Atticus said something and he turned to answer, his gaze briefly lingering on hers, head dipping in salute, the absolute certainty and calm determination in his eyes giving her hope that against all the odds they could, would survive. Somehow.

Lorna took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders.'Do you know how to use a firearm, Pearl?'

The other woman laughed, looking from Lorna to James and back again, a knowing glint in her eyes, 'I know how to load and shoot a pistol, miss, and I can load a rifle.' Her face lit up with an almost feral glow, lips twisting into a proud smirk, 'but I'm better with a knife.'

'Would you show me? Please?' Lorna's eyes were drawn to the ship, visibly closer now, then up to the American flag flying from the mast above their heads and for a moment the enormity of what she'd done crashed over her like a wave. By following James, becoming part of his crew, she and the rest of the damned had all committed treason. There was no going back now, even if she wanted to. It was fight or die, and Lorna intended to fight. She would never be a weakness again.

Pearl nodded and dropped into a little bob of a courtesy, the smirk even wider and tinged with approval. 'With pleasure, miss.'

….

AN: Sorry I had to interrupt them, but… sometimes that's the way it goes, especially if you're running from a furious and vengeful Prince Regent! Anyway, I'll have the next chapter up in a week or so, hope to see you there, cheers, Magpie


	3. Chapter 3

A Taboo fic. James Delaney, Lorna Bow, others of the League of the Damned.

Approaching the Azores and his meeting with Colonnade, James Keziah Delaney has a use for Lorna Bow. He wants her to play his wife.

AN: Hi and again, thank you so much for coming back to this version of events on board the Good Hope (or the ship of the damned…). Anyway, here's the last chapter in this little tale of the damned, and we start by going back a little to just afer they were interrupted, too much rigid continuity be damned lol! ;)

…..

Some are escaping from their country's secret shame,

and some from the horror of life at home…

They drug themselves on wind and sea and glowing skies.

(Charles Beaudelaire, 'Travelers,' Les Fleurs du mal, first published 1857)

The enemy ship was getting closer, although the Good hope was flying valiantly before the wind.

After they were so rudely interrupted and had untangled themselves, James yanked on his pants and boots, slung his coat around his shoulders and left the cabin, going straight to the leeward rail on the quarter-deck with his spyglass, taking Robert with him. He looked, then giave the boy the glass, pronouncing the Crown ship to be a sixth rate Frigate, with probably twenty eight guns and a crew of one hundred and fifty, maybe less, possibly more.

Lorna followed as soon as she was decently covered only to find the words one hundred and fifty ringing in her ears like the bells of doom. One hundred and fifty soldiers against the little more than a dozen able to fight aboard the Good Hope? And twenty eight guns? The Good Hope didn't even have enough of the damned to man their own paltry fifteen.

They were going to die, there could be no doubting it.

But James stood staring out at the water for what seemed like forever, unblinking, his head tipping back as he followed the flight of a bird soaring high, high above them. A wandering albatross perhaps? It was big whatever it was. 'We are not going to die, Miss Bow,' He hesitated,'Mrs Delaney.' It was as though he were trying the different names out on his tongue. 'Lorna…' He made a small sound in his throat, as though he were agreeing with someone.

She didn't know what that meant, so much about him was still a mystery. It was strange enough hearing her name on his lips even after what had happened in the cabin and even stranger that he seemed to know what she was thinking and both sent a shiver down to her toes. 'How?' She looked at him, proud that her gaze was steady even if her knees weren't, 'how will we not die?'

He turned those uncanny, staring eyes towards her. 'The Crown ship will come close enough to send a shot across our bows, but they will not board us and we will not die.'

Lorna's breath was trapped in her throat, but she had just enough air left for one question. 'And how do you know that?'

He glanced up at the sky. 'That bird told me.' Then he blinked, and it was almost as if he'd woken up from a dream. 'You can go wait in my cabin if you're afraid, you'll be safe there.' His tongue flicked out over those full, sensual lips and his eyes held hers, the heat in them searing, sending fire licking along her veins. 'And when it is over, I will come and find you.'

She had stared back, not able to look away. Afraid? The idea suddenly seemed ridiculous. Surely she had already abandoned any thought of safety when she threw in her lot with James and his league of the damned? So why should she be afraid now? Her head was swimming, her skin burned by his gaze to a state of exquisite, prickling tenderness as if she'd been touched by the sun, her heart pounding in her chest and all thoughts of the one hundred and twenty soldiers on that ship banished for a moment at least as she relived those last moments in the cabin, when he…

Swallowing, she forced herself to breathe, trying not to show him that he had her completely and utterly at his mercy. Her pride demanding it even as her reckless body demanded that he come with her now and finish what they started, Crown ship be damned.

She knew it was a fight her pride wouldn't win.

He knew it too. Of course he did. A tiny smile of satisfaction filled his eyes and he nodded. 'Go to my cabin and when it is over, I will come find you.' His tongue darted out again, drawing her eyes to that wicked mouth, 'and then we can continue our conversation.'

She glared at his presumption that she would simply do as he said, go where he told her to go, but nodded back anyway, unable to stop herself or say anything to refuse him. Because she didn't want to, she wanted a lightening bolt to strike that ship and blow it out of the water so they could forget it had ever been there and they could both go back to the cabin.

Somehow she tore herself away, vaguely aware of Robert's huge, solemn and somehow very un-childlike dark eyes watching her leave, watching them both, seeing everything and judging nothing. The boy another mystery she had yet to solve.

But she didn't want to go back to the cabin, not yet, not alone, instead she went in search of Pearl and her knives, so at least she could occupy her mind and body with something that might be useful. She would pretend they were rehearsing a scene, perhaps a fight from Hamlet, or the Scottish play? It wouldn't be nearly enough to take her mind off James Delaney or the hopefully remote possibility that he was wrong, but it was better than waiting in the cabin with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company.

She would be there when he came to find her though.

If the bird was telling the truth.

….

A short time later, Lorna leaned back against the aft mast, panting and a little out of breath after what had turned out to be a highly instructive half an hour of knife play with Pearl. Useful if she had to fight for her life, and if ever had the chance to get back on a stage again. Perhaps she could play some of the male parts now? Thoughts of Mercutio filled her mind, she'd always loved that scene, or Viola, who pretended to be a man and fought as one. Although Pearl could probably do a much better job of it. Lorna looped an arm around one of the thick ropes that ran to the deck to help stay upright and steady and watching, impressed and slightly amazed as the girl who had seemed to be just a simple, street smart prostitute expertly juggled three long, very sharp knives, flinging them into intricate patterns in the air with no apparent effort or concern for her skin.

Pearl looked vibrantly alive, her eyes bright, hands fluid and certain, the knife blades flashing bright in the sun. The sharp edges splashed beads of light onto her bare, sun brown feet spread wide to keep her balance on the heaving deck as their fleeing ship rolled with the swells, her long skirts, light blouse and blond curly hair were flying in the wind.

It was a sight to see, enough to lift the heart and every now and then one or other of the men had passed by on their way to one task or another and paused to look, their faces wearing various mixtures of lust, astonishment and genuine admiration.

French Bill stopped to have a look after casting a wary glance at Atticus up near the fore-deck guns to make sure he wasn't looking, a barrel of fresh powder cradled in his arms. He was standing just a little too close and had to take a neat half step back out of the way of one twirling, flashing blade, eyes twinkling as his dark gaze flashed to Lorna then back to Pearl, frankly admiring. 'She's good, ain't she?'

'Yes, she is,' Lorna managed to smile back although now she'd stopped moving her agitation was increasing with every league the Crown ship gained on them. It seemed closer every time she looked. She made an attempt at conversation because he seemed to expect it. 'Did you know Pearl used to be in a circus?'

Bill winked, dark eyes sly. 'Yeah… that one's got more'n a few tricks up her sleeve, that's for sure.' He steadied the barrel of powder carefully against his chest as the ship rolled and sent another smouldering glance at Pearl. 'See y'later, girly?'

Pearl smiled, flirting, flipped the knives one last time, caught them in one hand with an easy flick of a slender wrist and blew him a kiss, 'of course Bill.'

There was a shout from the bow.'Oy. Bill. Where's that powder? Stop fucking around, we ain't got all day.' Atticus sounded aggrieved.

French Bill jumped. 'Sorry, better go, ladies…' He left with a grin and a last heated glance at Pearl, then headed up the steps towards where Atticus was waiting.

Lorna couldn't help but sympathise with Atticus. For a short time it seemed they'd got away free and clear. Now? The story of the bird had got around the ship thanks to Robert, so they were all preparing for the worst and praying for the best because James Delaney seemed to have an uncanny ability to both survive and triumph over all manner of obstacles. Even the Tower. And he knew things too, things he should have had no way of knowing.

Lorna let go of the rope and stood away from the mast, the wind catching her hair and teasing it into a wild, red salty tangle. Perhaps he really was a devil, or a sorcerer like Prospero? The thought of it went racing through her veins like fire. It was as though they were players in a play she'd never read and she prayed with all of her might that the adventure would go on. Although she wasn't sure any longer who or what she was praying to.

She sighed, her eyes turning to James. Could she believe in him? Would he save them?

He was back at the wheel up on the quarterdeck, a familiar, broad, indomitable silhouette, the long black tails of his coat billowing out behind him, strong legs braced and his hands gripping the metal bound wood, knuckles white as he strained to get every breath of wind into the sails to keep the Good hope going.

Lorna felt a thrill go through her from head to toes as she watched him, remembering the feel of those hands on her, the weight of his body, the soft warmth of his mouth a sweet contrast to the hard rest of him. She shivered, and not from cold, although the wind was brisk.

'You alright miss?' Pearl was standing next to her, putting her knives back in their leather sheathes then into the bag she'd slung over her shoulder.

Lorna tore her eyes away from James. 'Yes. Thank you. I just hope I remember even a little of what you showed me if it comes to fighting.' She managed a small, but real smile.

Pearl smiled back, just a little, although her eyes were serious. 'Just relax and don't think too much, let your hands and reflexes do the work.' Then she hesitated, the smile fading. 'I've b'in thinking… If it does come to a fight and things go bad, they'll likely keep the two of us alive.' She shrugged, 'maybe Godders too. For a while anyway.' She glanced away, then back, the smile completely gone and mouth tight. 'D'you get my meaning, miss?'

She did and the thought of it turned Lorna's blood to ice. The possibility of that hadn't occurred to her but now? Memories of the Old Bailey and her terrifying interrogation made her shudder, skin crawling. She stood up very straight. 'I'd rather drown.'

'Yeah, me too, I like sex but that's a whole different kettle o' fish.' Pearl darted a glance at the other ship. 'So, if he's wrong and that ship does get close, what if we stay together? You, me and Godders. Watch each other's backs? Then if we need to, you know, we could…'

'Help each other?' Lorna nodded, her eyes going to James again. He wouldn't be able to protect them if he was wrong and things went really bad. They'd take him first because the Crown wanted him, the rest of them didn't matter and they knew too much to be let live. She nodded again, grateful. 'Yes, alright.'

Pearl patted her bag, 'we'll take a few of 'em with us first tho', yeah?'

Lorna chuckled, then took her hand. The slim fingers were strong in hers and damp from the salt spray. She squeezed. 'Yes we will, and thank you. For everything. But I wish you'd call me Lorna. We're all equal on this ship, James said so.'

The other woman looked her in the eye, 'and I believe 'e means it. But it'll take a bit o' getting used to.' Then with another smile and a press of fingers she was gone in a swish of skirts and windblown blond curls.

Lorna watched her go, the thought occurring to her that there were secrets and stories hidden inside each one of them on board this ship of the damned, herself included.

Her eyes drifted out to sea. The oncoming ship was almost the size of a farthing now, a dark, ugly blot on the ocean.

Anger was like a red hot stone in her throat. Why couldn't the Crown just leave them alone?

….

The sea was full of gently rolling white fringed swells that receded far away into an infinite blue and sea green distance where the water met a sky flickering with the first stars of evening.

It was beautiful.

Lorna didn't notice any of it as she raced back to the cabin from where they'd been watching because exhilaration and relief made her deaf and blind and anticipation filled her stomach with a thousand butterflies that fluttered as madly as if she were performing for the king.

Everything had happened just as James said it would.

The Crown ship had come close enough to fire two shots across their bow, one ball missing them entirely, the other tearing through one of the sails on the fore mast but otherwise leaving them unscathed as it flew on and splashed into the sea.

Then almost before the water drops fell back down and the shouts faded away there had been a cry of 'Sails' from Robert on watch high up in the crow's nest on the main mast.

Two American ships, each one of them bigger, faster and with more and bigger guns than the English frigate were speeding towards them from the south under full sail, their colours snapping bright in the wind.

She would never, ever forget the relief that flooded through her on seeing those sails or the sound of the cheers and applause from everyone gathered on the deck that thundered in her ears like the sweetest, most triumphant encore as the Crown ship, outgunned, outmanned and with defeat certain turned tail and fled without firing another shot, running like a rabbit from the American ships coming up fast behind her.

She climbed the steps to the quarter deck and turned, her hand on the rail, catching sight of Pearl, French Bill and some of the others down on the main deck, dancing what looked like a reel but was much faster, The sound of singing and clapping floated to her ears like an invitation to a party. For a brief moment she was tempted to go join them, but she'd seen James coming this way before her, his steps quick in that ground covering walk of his. She didn't have time for dancing right now.

He'd find the cabin empty and think that she didn't want to be there.

She ran.

Inside, the low roofed cabin was dark and warm, no lamps lit, the curtains drawn and she couldn't see much at all for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the dim light.

'You've been playing with knives, haven't you?'

He was there behind her, his lips close to her ear. She could feel his breath on her skin, feel his heart beating against her back, the bare skin of his chest warm and smooth like velvet over steel. She could feel every muscle even through the fabric of her dress and chemise. She swallowed, somehow finding words. 'Pearl and I were rehearsing what to do if we were boarded.'

His arms slid around her like iron bars under her breasts, and his body was a solid wall as he pulled her against him with a hard, easy strength, her feet almost leaving the ground. 'They did not board us and I told you to wait here and that I'd come for you.'

She gasped as his big hands roved over her breasts, her belly, between her legs, his lips and teeth greedy on her neck, her cheek, in her hair. 'Do people always do exactly what you tell them?' Her voice was full of panting need, a desperate yearning for more of him.

He stopped kissing her, one hand sliding down her thigh, kneading her flesh, finding a spot that made her shiver and gasp.'Yes, they do. Because I know what they want and what they need. You were afraid that I was wrong and you wanted to feel safe.' His hand slid under her knees and then he picked her up and carried her towards the bed as though she weighed nothing at all.

Her senses swam with him so close, her head falling back against his shoulder, her arm around the thick, rough furred collar of his coat, the view from below of his classic profile, broad shoulders and tall hat a unique silhouette against the misty, evening light coming through the window. 'Yes, I was and I did, but then you told me what the bird said.'

He paused for a moment. 'Did I?'

She looked up, trying to catch his eyes. 'Yes, you said the bird told you the Crown ship would get close enough to fire a shot across our bows but no closer, and then I didn't want to stay in here on my own, I needed to do something.' A shiver ran through her, the events of the day a strange, exhilarating chaotic whirl in her head, aware that she wasn't making much sense. The bird said? Had she imagined all of that? But Robert had seen it too, had heard what James said…

He made a sound in his throat, a kind of agreement? Then he laid her down on the bed, took his hat and coat off, tossed the hat onto the writing desk next to the bed and the coat over the chair under it then bent to undo her boots, his fingers as clever and nimble on the laces as they were with a quill, a rein or his strange, curved knife. He glanced up at her as he worked. 'You need to work on your balance. I'll show you. Today you were more in danger of slicing an artery than from any Crown soldiers.'

She lifted her head from the pillow so she could see his face, tearing her eyes away from his bare, muscular upper body, the beautiful, savage tattoos. 'Perhaps, but I think I am learning to like dangerous things, James.'

He blinked, something dark and powerful moving in his eyes, and for a moment he looked exactly what he was. A dangerous man. Then he stood up, looming over the bed, a being of shadows and light. 'So you are become an adventurer then?' There was a thump as he dropped her boots to the floor. Then he leaned over, his hands sliding under her skirts and up over her calves, her knees, her thighs, his fingertips grasping the tops of her woolen stockings and stroking them down, the rough skin of his fingers catching the tender skin of her thighs, the little hairs on her calves and sending sensation skittering up to her belly.

She gasped, her back arching, panting as a spasm of delight streaked along her body and centred itself at her core. 'Oh…'

He pulled the stockings over her feet, dropping them on the floor near the boots, then grasped her feet, fingers wrapping round her heels and thumbs caressing the fine bones of her ankle, rubbing over her toes. 'Hmm.' He sounded amused, 'an adventurer with soft feet,' then his hands slid up her legs, gripped her thighs and pulled her towards him with a strength that shocked her.

She squeaked, knees hanging over the foot of the bed and her dress bundled up under her breasts, only just retaining the presence of mind to undo the buttons securing the front of it. 'James?'

He took a bunch of fabric in each hand and leaned towards her, his eyes blown to black, as black as the marks on his skin, black as sin itself. 'Sit up.'

Lorna stared at him, a brief flashing memory of Solomon Coop and the way he'd undone her laces and torn her clothes during her interrogation giving her chills. Then she brushed the thought away. She would replace it with James' hands, his warmth, his body next to hers.

She did as he said, lifting herself up to allow the passage of fabric underneath.

'Raise your arms.' She did that too, and as soon as she did, he pulled the dress up over her head and threw it onto the chair, the corners of his mouth twitching although his eyes were narrowed in concentration as he looked at what was underneath the dress. 'Why do women wrap themselves in so many layers?' He moved around the bed, studying her chemise and it's fastenings, then sat behind her, undoing his pants with a snick of metal on metal on leather before sliding his legs around her, his weight on the mattress tipping her back against his chest, her arms falling onto his shoulders.

She laughed, although her heart was beating so fast it turned into something like a gasp, her back arching as she pulled in air in a spasm of fierce excitement. 'Perhaps to give men something to undo?'

His chest rumbled and he reached around her, arms brushing her sides, the curves of her breasts, his thighs tight against her flanks, cock a hard ridge nudging between her bottom cheeks. His bearded chin brushed her shoulder, making her shiver as he started to undo the laces that tied her bodice tight under her breasts, his palms and the inside of his wrists brushing the pebbles of her nipples under the thin muslin that covered them with every movement.

She relaxed, melting back against him, abandoning urgency for a sweet, slow, sensual certainty, because if anyone dared to disturb them this time? Well, she knew how to kill them now. Yes… even young Robert. Well, maybe not Robert, or Godders. Pearl either, but the others? A little smile curved her lips at the thought of how bloodthirsty and desperate lust made her. She didn't care if the whole Crown fleet turned up, they could wait until she and James had finished or she'd kill them too.

Her hands drifted up above her head to run over his strong neck, soft beard and fine jaw, skimming the close shaven scalp, discovering the lines and bumps of scars and wondering how he got them… and her eyes drifted shut, senses overwhelmed by the feel of his skin on hers, by the scent of spicy male sweat surrounding her, the heat of his body, the marks on his skin, the shadowy black of his tattoos a strange, elusive camouflage. Her mind was fascinated too by the small sounds of satisfaction that he made as he discovered the different fastenings of her clothing and overcame each one. He focused on things, studied them, absorbed them and in turn, everything about him was mysterious, extraordinary and of intense interest to her.

The last lace succumbed and the bodice fell away, undone, leaving her breasts barely covered by the loose muslin shift that she wore under it until, left without support, the fragile straps slipped down over her shoulders and she was bare, some of her secrets revealed to him for a second time…

He rumbled again, running a finger along the soft skin revealed as the fabric fell away, then slowly, slowly pushing the garment further down, as though he were peeling an orange to get to the rich fruit inside. He lingered over each movement, enjoying the slow unveiling, the unhurried, mutual seduction.

Lorna was swimming in an ocean of burgeoning sensation, She'd never met a man who paid attention the way he did, she could feel him watching to see what effected her most, what aroused her most, what made her gasp and writhe in his hands. He was both bold and thoughtful, his eyes hooded, dark, endlessly curious…

Her breasts were bare now, and he cupped them in his hands, thumbs circling the nipples and pebbling aureole making them tingle, little strings tightening between them and the core of her being, like they were lightening rods, attracting sparks…

She sighed and stretched, giving him more of her, her bare skin sliding on his, catching in a sweet friction where skin was wet with sweat and the heat of arousal.

He shifted a little, his hands leaving her breasts and stroking down her sides, over her belly and thighs to the hem of her shift. 'This comes off. Now.' His voice was rough and impatient as he bunched the fabric in both hands and pulled it up to the top of her thighs.

She lifted her bottom, obedient because she wanted, needed it too, swinging her legs to the side and under her so she could get up on her knees and he pulled the garment up and over her head, leaving her in her pantalettes, her hair fallen loose from it's knot and hanging in bright red tangles down her back.

He was still for a moment, silent, although she could feel his eyes on her, burning…

High waisted and buttoned at the sides in the old style, her last remaining garment covered her legs to below the knee but was left open in the centre from front to back along the crotch, the slightest movement providing him with tantalising glimpses of intimate flesh and the firm, smooth curves of her arse cheeks.

He held her hips, keeping her upright on her knees although she was swaying with sensation, drifting back to him as though he was a magnet.

She felt his thumbs at the slit, felt the delicate fabric pulled aside, felt him bend and place his lips and tongue on her flesh, exploring the soft, springy globes of her arse, going between in a soft, hot, wet invasion that had her sucking in a desperate, gasping breath and nearly brought her undone, felt him laugh in male triumph against her flesh…Then, he brushed the fabric aside with his chin and beard and sent his teeth biting and sucking on one cheek then the other, gently at first, then harder, again and again, sending streaks of heat into her core that lit her up from inside like one of Cholmondeley's fireworks exploding and she nearly fell, her knees giving way, the only things holding her up his hands on her hips and the strength of his body behind her.

He got to his knees, holding her against him with one arm around her belly, licking and kissing his way up her spine to her shoulders, his lips ending up at her earlobe, his breath hot, harsh, demanding. 'Lean forwards, down on your hands.'

She murmured some inarticulate agreement, almost mindless with wanting him as she heard the clatter of his belt falling, felt him yank his pants down with his other hand, felt the hard, thick ridge of his cock slide through the wet and eager flesh between her legs as though she were riding him and she dropped forwards onto her hands and knees, leaving him pressed against her backside.

Her hands grasped the coverlet, back dipped low so that her bottom was lifted up, knees spread wide to receive him and she felt something primal, savage and definitely far from civilised move inside her, turning her into a wanton, yearning creature that desired nothing more than to be taken hard and fast into sweet, chaotic, exquisite pleasure.

He moved back, positioning himself, rubbing the head of his cock through her moisture soaked folds, the thickness of him against her opening making her cry out something that sounded like his name but was more a cry of triumph as he surged inside her slick, welcoming core, his thickness stretching her wide and deep. His hands were gripped hard on her hips, holding her in place as he drew out almost all the way, then back in, hard and fast, his cock brushing a part of her on the way in and out that had her writhing, the weight of him driving her hands forward into the coverlet, breasts and hard nipples grazing the thick fabric at each heavy thrust, the pleasure of it taking her breath away.

She slid down, arms flat on the bed, hands clinging fast to the edge of the bed so that he could give her more, and more, and more…

…..

That whole night, there were no interruptions, although Lorna had a vague memory of waking in the dark to hear some kind of whispered argument just outside the door. James had woken too, of course. But he had just growled a little, ignored whoever it was and gathered her closer, his lips brushing her ear, a hand sliding up over thigh, hip and belly to cup her breast and his cock nudging her rear…

…

Outside the door and far enough away that she was giving them at least a little privacy, Pearl sat on guard on a pallet she'd had French Bill drag up from belowdecks, one of her knives ready in her hand to show she meant business. She'd already sent Atticus on his way once and stayed on in case some other idiot had an urge to talk to the Devil about something that couldn't wait till morning when of course it bloody well could.

She grinned, Bill had complained bitterly about her absence, but she'd promised to make it up to him in spades later, Atticus and the others too if that's what it took.

She glanced at the door, nodding in approval when she heard the unmistakeable sounds of a good, healthy fucking going on from inside, then gazed out at the moonlit silhouettes of the two American ships standing guard over them on the calm seas off to port and starboard.

It was about time the Devil and his girl had some good luck.

…..

Some time later, Lorna fell back to sleep, her pleasantly aching, well fucked and satisfied self cocooned by James' warm, male body, her last conscious thought being that the role of Mrs James Delaney was without doubt going to be the most exhilarating of her career…

….

AN: thanks so much for reading, and even though this was a bit of a romantic finish, I'm sure there'll be lots of dark, gothically steamy and OTT brutal adventure to come lol! Roll on Taboo fan fic and Season 2! :D cheers, Magpie xx


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